


A Perfect Stranger

by TheBearQueen



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drinking, Flirting, Ghost Being Adorable, M/M, Meet-Cute, Short & Sweet, Slice of Life, jonmundweek2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:13:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23312929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheBearQueen/pseuds/TheBearQueen
Summary: "Come on, don't be like that,"There's a short, dark-haired man stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. Tormund huffs and tries to move past him. He's blocked by a tiny white ball.The man's voice is desperate as he looks down at the pup, who is staring up at him with wide eyes."You said you wanted to go for a walk, Ghost. What are we going to do when you're too big for me to carry you?"
Relationships: Tormund Giantsbane/Jon Snow
Comments: 7
Kudos: 180





	A Perfect Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys like this little slice of life I've provided :)
> 
> Thank you as always to the wonderful Miss_Rust for beta-ing for me, and for organizing Jonmund week in the first place!!
> 
> Now please, enjoy the sweet

"Come on, don't be like that,

There's a short, dark-haired man stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk. Tormund huffs and tries to move past him. He's blocked by a tiny white ball. 

The man's voice is desperate as he looks down at the pup, who is staring up at him with wide eyes. 

"You said you wanted to go for a walk, Ghost. What are we going to do when you're too big for me to carry you?"

The ball of white fluff’s only response is a tiny whimper, and the man sighs heavily and starts rummaging around in his bag. 

He eventually pulls out a black piece of fabric covered with straps. 

"You're lucky I brought this you little shit,” He says affectionately, and Tormund has to hold back a snort. 

The puppy starts wagging his tail as the man crouches and arranges what Tormund realizes is a harness. 

He glances down at his watch. He'd left the house early today, he could spare a few minutes to watch this play out. 

The puppy hops excitedly into the harness, yipping and wiggling as the man buckles him in. He hefts it and swings the straps across his back. 

Tormund can only stare with what he is sure is a massive, stupid grin stretched on his face. The man starts walking again, now with the dog strapped to his back like a baby. 

As the two start moving again the dog tilts its head, as if to say ' _ Hey, what are you doing? Come on!' _

Tormund pulls out his phone and turns on his camera, determined to capture this adorable moment. (And maybe go viral in the process) 

He follows closely behind the man for several blocks, completely forgetting the fact that he was meant to be at work by now. 

They come to a stop outside an apartment building, the man huffing and looking down at his phone. 

"Damn Thorne...I'm sorry boy, it looks like our day off is going to be postponed." 

The puppy yips sadly, and the man behind to rid himself of the many straps that held him. 

He turns and comes face to face with a wide-eyed Tormund. 

Fuck. 

Apparently, the dog wasn't the only cute thing Tormund had been following. The man staring at him was such a work of art he belonged in a museum. 

Shaggy ebony hair that curls in perfect ringlets falling adorably into deep grey eyes. The eyes are framed by thick, dark lashes. His skin is pale and unblemished, broken only by full pink lips currently twisted into a scowl.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Shit. 

"Uh- I'm- I'm sorry I just had to take a picture of your dog!"

His face loses the scowl, replaced by a look of confusion. 

"What, Ghost?" 

Roused by its name, the puppy tries to hop to Tormund, only to stumble and roll in the dirt. It untangles itself and begins yipping angrily at the harness as it lay limply on the ground. 

The laughter it startles out of him is genuine, and he hears the pups master join in. 

The puppy turns back towards him and hops up to rest tiny forepaws on one of his knees. 

Tormund kneels down and coos at the small thing, scratching it behind the ears until its little tail starts thumping the ground, the sound so faint it’s almost unheard. 

He feels his heart melt, and he looks up at the gorgeous man with a wide smile on his face. 

The guy huffs, still looking annoyed but also amused. 

"Yeah okay, I kind of get it. He gets me with his tricks  _ all _ the time, the prick."

He kneels down on the pup’s other side, and it twists, confused on who to face. 

It becomes distracted by its tail and begins to chase it.

"Oh my god," Tormund says, feeling as if he could watch this dumbass dog for all of eternity. 

"I know." He glances over at the man, who's eyes were still locked on the puppy. 

As if sensing eyes on him, he looks up and meets Tormunds gaze.

_ 'Fuckin' gorgeous,' _ he thinks and grins. 

"Hi," he says through his smile, "I'm Tormund Giantsbane. What do I call you?" 

The other man eyes him for a moment before reaching out a somewhat cautious hand in greeting. 

"Jon Snow. I gotta say it's a little weird you followed me home," 

Tormund feels the blood drain from his face. 

"I swear it was completely unintentional! That damn dog is an evil manipulator!" he claims, jabbing a finger in the direction of the thing. 

In response the mutt tilts his head and blinks at him, making Tormund wonder if maybe the whole evil-mastermind train of thought isn't too far off. 

Jon just laughs at him, thankfully. As his chuckles die down, replies,

"Oh, he is, trust me I know. I've been weaseled out of  _ many _ treats these past few weeks." 

At the word  _ treat _ Ghost jumps and turns to face Jon, wagging his tail in excitement.

He sighs, putting his hands on his hips. 

"No, No! No more treats for you today!" 

The puppy whines and Tormund watches Jon's resolve fall away almost instantly. 

"Okay, okay, one more, but that's  _ it _ , I swear!" 

Tormund could only watch in amusement at the small window into Jon's life. He has a feeling that it would not in fact be Ghost’s last treat of the day. 

Just then, Tormund’s phone started to ring, reminding him of where he needed to be. 

"Shit! Oh shit, that's my boss! Oh shit, I'm so fired-" he turns to walk back the way he came and realizes he has no clue where he is. 

"Damn it-Hey! Jon! Where the fuck am I?" 

He looks at Tormund with a raised eyebrow and answers,

"Take the first two rights and the second left and you'll be back on the street where I put Ghost in his harness." 

Tormund repeats the directions several times in his head. 

"Thanks," he calls over his shoulder, already jogging back down the street. 

~~~

Jon watches the large man run down his block, with a mix of bewilderment, annoyance, and amusement bubbling in his chest. 

He enters his apartment with Ghost at his heels, shrugging his bag off over his head. 

Work had been long, and tedious, and all he had wanted to since he clocked out was spark up a joint and cuddle on the couch with Ghost while watching TV. 

But then the little fuck had  _ insisted _ on a walk, and Jon had folded to his will like a house of cards. 

Damn, the dog knew how to play him. 

Said culprit pranced to the couch Jon was currently slumped on, and stood up on his hind legs in a futile attempt to get up beside his caretaker.

Jon sighs lightly and reaches down to haul Ghost up by the scruff of his neck, chuckling softly when he eagerly kicks and squirms in his tries to help.

The puppy clambers over Jon's thighs to his lap, shoving his muzzle into Jon's hands for pets. He gives in easily, scratching him behind the ears. Once satisfied, he curls and settles on Jon's legs, providing comforting warmth.

He'd only gotten Ghost a few weeks ago, but he already couldn't imagine life without him. He had found him during a bike ride, and seeing nothing else around picked him up and tucked him into his jacket. 

He had no idea what kind of dog he was, but he suspected he'd end up big. 

With his TV providing mainly background noise, Jon's thoughts begin to wander. 

Particularly to the man who'd followed him home. He didn't get a lot of time to get to look at him, but the brief glimpse was enough to make an impression stick. 

Impossibly tall, broad shoulders, a gorgeous,  _ gorgeous  _ mane of red hair. And he'd seemed nice, for all intents and purposes. 

His eyes slip closed as he remembers the strong, deep voice, the sky blue eyes…

Oh for fuck’s sake, no. No  _ way _ was he growing eyes for his potential  _ stalker.  _

_ "Well,"  _ says a traitorous voice inside him  _ "Ghost liked him. That counts for something, right?"  _

"Ghost likes anything that has been around  _ food _ for the past 24 hours, so no, doesn't count for much," He mumbles to himself, feeling slightly crazy. 

He had to admit, he had been admiring the man until he had noticed notice the phone in his hand, perfectly positioned to take Jon's picture.

He was normally quite observant and was angry that he had missed a man  _ following _ him for god knows how long. He blamed his recent obtuseness on his crazy new work hours, which had him burning up like a candle lit from both ends.

Ghost nips at his now still hands in protest, wanting them to go back to scratching him behind the ears in the one spot he could never reach due to a lack of human limbs. 

Jon resumes his actions, not wanting to risk the ire of his new best friend. He wonders what Ghost had liked so much about the strange man. Maybe he works in a sausage factory or something like that. 

_ He didn't  _ **_look_ ** _ like he worked in a sausage factory.  _

_ I want him to work in  _ **_my_ ** _ sausage factory, _

He gives his head a sharp shake, scowling. 

Damn. 

He needs to get laid. 

He lifts Ghost and sets him between his thigh and the arm of the couch, reaching for his phone on the coffee table. 

He opens it, scrolling idly through his various apps before opening his texts. Maybe Sam and the boys would be up for a beer.

He sighs, tiredness weighing him down heavily. Work had been hell recently, resulting in him spending every moment there wishing he was somewhere else. He'd been looking for something new for a while now, but he hadn't been able to find anything. 

He'd recently applied for a secretary position at a law firm and was still waiting to hear back, but he was hopeful. He had to be, otherwise, he'd go insane. 

His phone buzzes and he checks his messages, seeing one from Edd. 

_ Dour friEnD: Meet at Moles in 15?  _

**_Yeah, I'll be there_ **

He gets up to Ghost’s protests and gives himself a quick once over in the mirror. Not too bad, he decides and grabs his jacket. 

"You be good now, Ghost. I won't be too long,"

•••

The Molestown Bar, affectionately named "Moles" was a common hang out for Jon and his buddies. It was crowded tonight, which was unusual, but Jon didn't have much of an objection. Maybe he could even find someone to take home. 

He locates Edd and Sam at a table in a corner and goes to them. 

"How’s it been, lads?" 

"Aaay! Snow!"

"Hello, Jon," 

He takes a seat at one of the empty chairs. 

"Just us tonight?" 

"Nah," says Edd, "Pyp and Gren are late,  _ again _ ." 

"They're probably arguing over who has to pay for beer tonight," says Jon, earning a round of laughter. 

"So Jon, what's up?" Asks Sam bluntly, staring blankly at Jon

"What do you mean?"

Sam laughs.

"The last time I saw that look on your face you got so drunk we had to carry you home, and then you cried when I tried to leave." 

"Shut up," Jon says, blushing, "That was a long time ago," 

"Last month," says Edd 

"Shut up!" 

Sam simply fixes him with a look, leaning on the table, resting his chin on his hand. 

Jon sighs. 

"It's just my job. I feel like I'm suffocating there." 

"That's no excuse get blackout drunk-"

"I'm not going to get blackout drunk!" He snaps and then feels guilty. 

"Sorry. I've just had a stressful couple of-" 

"Weeks?" Says Sam.

"Months," Offers Edd. 

" _ Days. _ " Says Jon, annoyed. The silence that follows is heavy, and Edd pushes back his chair. 

"I'm getting beer." Jon waves him away and locks eyes with Sam. 

"Dude. Did you just try and give me an intervention for drinking in a  _ bar?"  _

Sam scratches the back of his head, eyes downcast. 

"Well it wasn't  _ supposed  _ to be an intervention," he starts.

"I'm just worried about you Jon. You know you mean a lot to me," He sounds shy, almost, and if after all these years he still expects Jon's rejection

He smiles at his friend and claps him on the shoulder. 

"I know. Thank you, Sam." 

Edd returns, placing three beers in the middle of the table before snatching his own away.

"Bottoms up, men!" 

Jon chortles and does as he's told, chugging until at least half the bottle is gone. He wipes his chin, laughing. 

When the beers are done, Jon volunteers to go and get the next round. 

"Three Dragons Milk, please," He tells the bartender, and he hears a snort behind him. 

"The fuck is 'Dragons Milk'? Squeezed straight from dragon tit to bottle?" 

It startles a genuine laugh out of Jon, and he turns to find who'd said it. 

"You!" He shouts, pointing.

It was him, the man from earlier, obviously a little tipsy, and unfortunately still just as damningly attractive. 

"Jon!" he yells, seemingly delighted at finding him. 

"You remember my name," Jon says, confused. 

"What?" Tormund’s staring at him in confusion, "Of course I remember your name. You don't meet a hot guy with a cute dog and  _ forget  _ their name," 

"I-what?" Jon squeaks. Had this  _ Greek god  _ of a man just called him hot? 

"I mean really," The redhead purrs, leaning down into Jon's personal space. He threads one of Jon's wayward curls around a finger. 

"You belong in a museum with all the other works of art." 

Jon's jaw drops, his cheeks heating.  _ What? _

"I-I-What are you doing here?" Jon's been coming to this bar for  _ years, _ and he's never seen this guy before. (He would remember.) 

The other man stands up straight and blinks as if Jon not being able to read his mind was something he hadn't considered. 

"I moved to the area a few weeks ago. Closer to the office." 

"Okay," says Jon. He's not sure how to move forward with the conversation, but he wants to keep it going. When's the next time he's going to have an opportunity to chat up a man of this stature? 

"Do you um, want a beer?" He asked, holding one out to him, "It's actually really good, despite the name." 

He takes the bottle, and when his fingers brush Jon's swears he feels an electric shock. 

Tormund braces it on the end of the bar and pops the cap with a simple movement of his wrist, and Jon finds himself wishing he could rewind it like a video, to watch over and over again. 

Momentarily forgetting about his friends waiting for him at the table, he gets caught up in talking with Tormund. The man is eccentric and  _ funny _ , and he tells Jon so many stories he couldn't hope to remember them all. 

When he glances back at his table, his friends are craning their necks looking around for him at the bar. He looks back at Tormund before taking the two other beers. 

"I'll be right back, I just have to run these over there really quick," 

"Don't be too long," Tormund says, winking at him. 

Jon hurries over to his table and nearly throws the beers on the table in his rush. 

"Oh my God, hot guy at the bar, totally into me, I'll text you later!" 

"Wait, hey-Jon!" Edd complains, and Jon hears Sam murmur something to him to make his protests die down. 

He slides back to the barstool in record time, a little out of breath. Tormund is looking at him with a fond look in his eyes that Jon is sure he's reciprocating. 

"Hi," Jon says, smiling. 

"Hey," Says Tormund, smiling right back, "Everything good?" 

"Yeah," Jon's answers, "Everythings good."

"Good. Now, I can't help but notice you're without a drink, while myself and your two friends are not. Do you mind if I fix that?" 

"Not at all," He's still smiling. Why can't he stop  _ smiling? _

_ it's because you liiiiiikkeee hiiiiimmmm _

The voice in his head sounds very much like his little sister in that moment, and he finds himself agreeing. 

Even though their meeting had been under…unusual circumstances, he  _ does  _ like him. 

"So what do you do for work?" Tormund asks.

"Oh, I just organize files and such at a little startup tech company, nothing big, but truth be told I hate it there. Not the organizing or anything, just the people." 

"Ha! Fortunately, I can say I haven't had that feeling in a good while. I work for a law firm down the other side of the wall."

"You're a lawyer?" 

"No need to sound so surprised," Tormund says, but he doesn’t sound miffed, only joking. 

"No, no, it's not that, you just don't have the look-" 

"Oh I know, it’s partially intentional. Opposing guys think they're gonna get another pencil pusher; imagine the surprise when they get Harley Davidson!" 

Jon chuckles, nodding. 

"I bet the faces you see are great," 

"Oh yeah, sometimes I think I should hide a go-pro in my beard and see how long it takes someone to notice." 

"You really should," Jon's agrees, "That would be  _ hilarious _ . You'd probably go viral!" 

At that Tormunds eyes light up, and the man rushes to get his phone out of his pocket. 

"Wait wait wait hold on hold on you have  _ got _ to see this-" 

He shoves his phone in Jon's face, and it takes a moment for his brain to process what his eyes are seeing. 

It's a tweet, with a picture of a white dog being carried on someone's back. 

_His_ white dog. 

"Wait, is that me?" 

"Yeah! Look at how many retweets it has, man!" 

Jon's eyes fall to the number and he snatches the phone out of Tormunds hand to make sure he's not seeing things. 

" _ Thirty-four  _ thousand?!" 

"I know!" 

He scrolls down through the replies, at least 80% of them demanding an investigation to find quote-unquote "The cutest puppy to ever exist," which Jon thought was a fair assessment. 

"I need to make Ghost his own Twitter account. I might get verified because of this!" 

"If you make him a Twitter account you  _ know _ you have to make him an Instagram account too, right?" 

Jon pauses for a moment,

"You are correct," Jon says pleasantly, "But I don't even have Instagram for  _ me _ ." 

"Well that is a  _ travesty, _ " He leans forward, brushing a thumb along Jon's jaw, "Keeping a face like this hidden away," 

Jon shivers, taking Tormunds wrist in his hand to pull it away from his face. He doesn't drop it though. 

"You quit that-" 

"Not gonna happen." 

They both lean in closer, only a few inches apart. Jon's still holding his wrist, his fingers feeling hypersensitive where they touch Tormunds skin. 

He  _ really _ wants Tormund to kiss him. 

His eyes dart down to Tormunds mouth and then back up to his eyes again. The other man is watching him intensely as if trying to read his thoughts. 

_ Oh, screw it, _ thinks Jon, reaching for the collar of Tormunds shirt. 

They seemed to have had the same idea at the same time because they meet in the middle for the best kiss Jon has ever had.

Its slow, and sweet, and exploratory, and  _ oh, so good.  _

Someone wolf-whistles and they pull apart. He flips off the general direction that the yell came from, not taking his eyes off of Tormund’s. 

"Want to get out of here?" 

Jon smiles. 

"Yeah, let's do it." 


End file.
